Sustained Criticism

After some two and a half hours at my hair-dresser's (with her darling papillon asleep in my lap), my bob is now an a-lined version, which will eventually grow "steeper" in front. With foiled high- and lowlights (warm, very dark blonde) the colour is now not as undecidable and it generally just looks healthier. Surprise, surprise, I love it.

Since I have already unabashedly declared my vanity, I might as well continue ranting about my favourite products. Kristine and I were stuck with birthday-christmas gifts last year, and decided we would be very boring and buy each other Guerlain's L'Or Make-up Base. I bathe my skin in 24 karats of gold every morning, and I feel so delectably decadent. I love decadence, and would not be without my L'Or. Nor my Parure foundation. Bought as a birthday present to myself (cough, I, er, needed a new foundation?), I would not be caught dead without it anywhere. And the pretty, pretty compact. Yes, I admit it, I cannot help myself for pretty casing. Oh, and Shiseido's Pureness line. It saves my otherwise ugly blemish-prone skin. Pale does not look good with red spots.

Though certain people appraently think I would benefit from enlarging them, I have rather big, unpracitcal lips. They dry out easily and I have to work to make them look decent. Imagine my joy when I find lip glosses and -sticks that moisturise. Shiseido's lipstick in real red is divine: colour and moisture. Estée Lauder, as well, it feels like butter melting rather than lipstick applied. Guerlain's terracotta lip glosses. And, lastly, my newest favourite, Dior's Crème de Gloss. I cannot help smacking my lips to feel the texture of it. How could I forget my Alessandro hand-creams?

"My pleasures are the most intense known to man: writing and butterfly hunting," said Nabokov. I ammend it to things beautiful, in general, and agree.

I have to finish Jane Eyre by the 28th. Haha! I think I might, finally, be grasping iambic pentameter.

I tend to believe all people have "Frankensteins" - monsters that, when sparked by a certain amount of elecetricity, come to indefatiguable life - and my Frankie went on a jealous rampage last night. My vanity does not need encouragement, in any way. Although I won't confess to minding being compared to Dita von Teese, being revered for my sense of style, and gawked at from across the room. On that note, I rater like drunken-stupours, they tend to bring me compliments. And I paraphrase Idi Amin "all rational people change their opinions every once in a while"; take delight in my inconsequence, for drinking to get drunk is still a rather silly thing.

No school tomorrow, except an hour and a half of psyhcology, and that's just fun. I love "studiedager" (translation abscent not for the lack of hilarity, but for the lack of creativity on the author's part).

Went to play with Sandra yesterday, for her "sweet 18". "Melodic Violence" (look them up at myspace, there's sure to be a ton of pictures) played, whether she payed or threatened them into coming, I have no idea. Friends turning 18 is weird. We're growing up, and it's a profoundly peculiar experience. However bad the singer was, the music wasn't too bad. Met a few people, got gawked at by several, and invited to various places by others - Hønefoss, South-Hampton, Moss and Camden, to be a sport and name a few. And I've never seen such a gathering of intensely emo emos. Hadn't Nina, Tina and I arrived to save the day, flanked by Aida and her friend called, we thought, M-something, they would've lapsed into collective SI the moment the band started playing; I'm sure they brought ostehøvler and råkostjern (no, I can't be bothered to look up the names of various kitchen utensils) for the purpose of ridding themselves of all the skin on their arms, legs or other bodyparts respectively.

New layout, credit of the lovely Gawariel Design. It's bent not to work with my Safari, so I have to use Firefox for LJ, but it's worth it. Aesthetics takes presedence over pracicality, comme d'habitude.

Oh, and I had what never quite evolved into a tea-party with Mari on Thursday. 'Twas great fun, seeing her again. And I got to deliver the gift. Turned out we bought not Mortiis, as I thought, but some obscure Norwegian band singing about suicide. Smashing gift.

And I really should read some American Politics. I've a substantially lakcing grasp of the Presidential Election.


Addendum: I think I've figured out how I want to celebrate my 18th. I'll threaten some people into having dinner with me, force dad into buying wine (Asti of course, for a starter/welcome-thingy, a fitting red for dinner, and something sweet and white for dessert) and just sit around, talking and sipping lovely wine into the evening, accompanied, of course by great music and intriguing discussions. Sophisticaion <3.